ancestors

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  Dna a pattern woven through time and space  I am it’s here and now Sacred human connection as told in the stories of old  I am the calling of my ancestors
  Who We Are   Imagine this Your ancestors living life free, No worries in the world, Until foreigner’s land in your city,
I am Black which determines how I move. I am a woman which you should know too. I am inspired by those who came before me Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, and Rosa P.
I am the seed that my ancestors planted. Resilient and grounded- From the freedoms they founded I am the seed that my ancestors planted. Black and educated- Though my demise was premeditated.
I am the seed that my ancestors planted. Resilient and grounded- From the freedoms they founded I am the seed that my ancestors planted. Black and educated- Though my demise was premeditated.
Survive. They did. Survive. They did. Alive..because they did not know. They didn’t know..   Survive. They did. Survive. They did. This life, if they knew what would become of us,
When their horses came thundering over the plain, François, did you fear they would take you away? Did you fear where they’d carry you, fear what they’d do? Did you long for the sounds of the brown Rio Grande,
  Milestone Internalizing the turmoil helps me cope. When they look at me, they look through me, beyond me. I am nothing. I am something. A Struggle to Be, I am me.
This is an open letter to all those who came before me.      To those who paved , built , and walked through the perilous path of life before me.
To my ancestors, I wished you would have never come To this dreamland, imagineland, make it what you want land. Your hard work and broken backs Trump doesn't give a shit about your land
Roaming In the hallways not quite belonging   Squeezing Into a space, where there was never place   I am not alone In this daily struggle  
what is happening cannot be spoken time is out running out, running out dream richly to myself   it's the last few days
On the days in which my blackness be a burden My body just a container, a casket. Mahogany skin cultivated to hold dead things.
As I toss and turn dreading my alarm sound, I think. If these were my ancestors, they'll be up in a blink. See they couldn't get an education or they'd end up dead.
I am Mike Brown. I am Tamir Rice. I am Eric Garner. I am the fallen of my culture, my color, my characteristics. I am the family of these victims, I am the friends.
Is there meaning beside the running river water? Is there meaning within the giant Solaris in the sky? Is there meaning beneath the grass, beneath the sod or the dirt, which is brown, cold, and old? If I claw
I can’t see you, but maybe you can see me.  Even if our eyes can’t reach through this thinly veiled reality that I live in, I know you’re watching and waiting patiently for me anyway.
What if wind Isn’t wind? It’s actually our ancestors Whispering in Like a breeze Isn’t a breeze It’s their calming voice Guiding
Falling to the earth. Blood spilling. Screams chilling. Utterly our ancestors a-screaming.
It is so easy to dream On the Pulse of Morning To envision a new future at daybreak. But how fared my ancestors in the dark of night, Resuscitating the dreams of the slave?
Dear Fellow "Men": You stand so tall Because your penis and testicles Make you better, never wondering whether You are a man
Dedicated to my father I live on this Old Farm, a Farm that seems to have lost      all of its Value.... No cows graze Here, there's no clucking or feathers, or the fresh smell of manure.
Wake up! Shine and rise! Wipe the dream goo from your eyes, Scrape the slob streaks from your cheek, off to the mirror--take a peek;
Opportunity is a simple word that means so much. It can bring dreams, hope and aspiration in our lives, but can also make us chose the path we want to follow in life.
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